Capture the Sun
by Static Lull
Summary: She drank in the sun as it danced across her skin. The warmth made even the dreary looking asylum, looming ahead, less ominous. She was going to remember this sunshine because it might just be her last opportunity. DISCONTINUED.
1. Snatches

**Disclaimer: **Alice Cullen and all related characters are copyrighted to Stephenie Meyer.

**A/N:** This is my first submission in the Twilight category, but I've had this idea in my head for quite some time. I've really had a lot of fun writing it. Mainly because Alice is my favorite character and she's got an extremely fascinating history.

Just a little note to those who don't know or remember, Alice's real name is Mary Alice Brandon. In the beginning, I'll have most people refer to her as Mary or Mary Alice, but she will take on Alice in later chapters.

**Installment 1 – Snatches**

_No matter how dark the night, somehow, the sun rises once again and all shadows are chased away._

The Mississippi sun blazed down harshly upon the crowded city—unusually warm for this early in spring—merciless to those who happened to be caught on in the stifling heat.

"Mary! Mary!" A dark haired girl, not a day past six, tugged impatiently at her sister's skirt. The petite young woman didn't so much as acknowledge her sister, quite a rude thing to do, particularly since they had stopped in the middle of the bustling streets of Biloxi and quite a bit late as it were.

However, Mary Alice Brandon kept her gaze transfixed at an unassuming patch of grass peeking out through the cracks in the sidewalk several paces ahead, although, her steely gray eyes seemed to be capturing a different image altogether. That, in fact, was exactly the case at hand. Yet the question wasn't what exactly she was seeing, but rather _when._

Mary Alice caught a bird's eye view of a tidy living room, a feat only possible if she was harnessed to the ceiling. It was a room she knew quite well, from the overused sofa, to the crowded bookshelf, the simple floor lamp, the antique radio, and the balding man that fidgeted with the radio's tuning until the static was replaced by a crisp, slightly crackling voice—the evening news broadcast.

"—say the death toll has now risen to eight after yesterday's warehouse fire." The reporter announced in a dull monotone.

She shook her head quickly to rid the curious—but nonetheless mundane—scene. She must have been daydreaming again. Mary Alice had doing that all too frequently these past few months. She would get sidetracked, allow her mind to wander, and then stare into space for untold amounts of time. She wasn't sure of the cause but she suspected it was largely the result of her anxiety towards her rapidly approaching eighteenth birthday.

Normally Mary Alice enjoyed the intimate celebrations that her family threw for her on each birthday, but this one seemed almost like a death sentence. As the days drew closer, her mother would find every available opportunity to remind her eldest daughter that she was a woman. Women were expected to be married, lest unfathomable rumors began to fly. Now that many of the girls her age were beginning to adopt serious romantic relationships and even getting engaged or married, her mother's expectations had become increasingly apparent.

Mary Alice wasn't particularly interested in men—or rather none had caught her eye in a remarkable way—and they, in return, didn't seem to hold much attention for her either. She was a tad on the plain side and had a bit of a mischievous personality—unladylike according to her parents. Strange was an adequate word to describe her, and strange she was.

"Mary, _come on!_" The young Cynthia screwed up her face in a combination of impatience and annoyance. "Mommy will be mad if we're late for dinner again."

"Alright, I'm coming." She ruffled her sister's neatly combed hair and wove through the labyrinth of streets until they arrived at the familiar brick house. Much to their mother's irritation and despite their best efforts—they were late—their food lukewarm and inedible.

"Did you hear the new report?" Mr. Brandon asked after running out of ideas for polite dinner conversation. He didn't wait for an answer before he continued on. "That warehouse fire, you know the one, killed eight people." Mary's father devoured the news like the way housewives devoured gossip.

"What a shame." His round-faced wife agreed as she nibbled delicately at a roll.

A twinge of déjà vu tugged at the corners of Mary's mind. _'—say death toll has now risen to eight after yesterday's warehouse fire.'_ The stories were remarkably similar. It couldn't be a coincidence. But, after all, that fire had made every headline in town. She probably had caught a glimpse of one during her foray in town and incorporated it into her daydream. Nothing unusual about that—completely logical. Right?


	2. Inevitable

**A/N**: I can't tell you how much I appreciate the reviews I received for chapter one. I'll try to meet your expectations. I really had a blast writing this chapter so I hope you enjoy it. And the next chapter should be longer to make up for the two short ones.

**Installment 2 – Inevitable**

The days passed all too quickly, blurring into weeks, and before Mary knew it, an entire month was gone, taking spring along with it. She counted back, trying to recall where she invested her days but it was a wasted effort. How had she let all this time slip away? Only scarcely more than three days separated her from the inevitable—her birthday and the detonation of the ticking time bomb that was her mother. If she had to listen to another matrimonial tirade she would be the one exploding.

Was it so absurd that she didn't want a man anytime soon? Well none that Biloxi had to offer. However, deep beneath her hard-earned, unladylike perception was the unthinkable—a diehard romantic waiting patiently for her Prince Charming, and ruffling a few feathers while she waited. And like a spoiled debutante, she knew exactly what she wanted. In fact, she often found herself daydreaming about her Mr. Right. He was the southern gentleman her parents expected, but had the added bonus of charisma. Mary could practically see his face now—blonde hair, round but well-defined features, pale skin, perhaps unnaturally so. He had an infectious smile and peculiar eyes, a pale crimson like that of an albino, with dark rings beneath them as if he hadn't slept the night before. He was perfect, too perfect for a plain Jane like her. Still, she was bound and determined to wait for him. No other would have her heart.

"Mary Alice Brandon, stop your dawdling!" Her mother's shrill reprimand dispelled the wistful image of Prince Charming in record time as she ushered her daughter into the quaint boutique. This was the fifth store they'd entered searching for the perfect birthday dress without success, and Mrs. Brandon had rapidly tired of Mary's lack of enthusiasm.

"How about this, dear?" Mrs. Brandon indicated a pale lavender dress with a lacy hem. It really was quite pretty, but the soon-to-be eighteen-year-old barely glanced at it before dismissing the garment. If she could drag out the dress hunt, then there would be no time left to purchase the rest of the items necessary for the party.

Despite her best efforts, her mother returned with an over-eager employee, overwhelmed by mounds of dresses and measuring devices. This was obviously their last stop on the dress search.

After trying on half a dozen different dresses, Mary, or rather, Mrs. Brandon had selected a modest powder blue, A-line dress complete with a thick white sash and shrug. However, it turned out due to Mary Alice's petite stature, the dress was several inches too long and had to be taken in around the midsection as well. So after the twenty minute process of being attacked by measuring tape and enduring the uncomfortable transformation from Mary Alice Brandon to the human pincushion, they were told to pick up the dress the following afternoon.

The rest of the day was consumed largely by birthday errands. The bakery was about as interesting as looking at paint swatches, but at least she could look forward to the rum cake her mother ordered. It had been a pleasant surprise to know that her mother had remembered that it was her favorite, rather the simple vanilla she was usually subjected to. Later, her mother debated with a particularly stubborn salesman about which place setting better said "young lady". An argument that resulted in several broken wine glasses and a gravy boat when the salesman stormed off after Mrs. Brandon insisted on a more competent employee. By the end of the shopping expedition, they had purchased everything on their list save for the gifts that her mother refused to buy in Mary's presence lest she ruin the surprise.

It had certainly been a tiring day, and Mary Alice wanted nothing more than to curl up with a good book before taking a well-deserved nap. However, Cynthia, never at a loss for energy, was determined to showcase her new hairdressing skills she had acquired only this morning after braiding her dolls' hair.

"What do you want for your birthday, Mary?" Cynthia chatted amiably as she drug the brush through her sister's hair with clumsy fingers, oblivious to Mary's wince when it caught a knotted clump of hair. She only tugged harder, and Mary could feel the hairs part from her scalp.

"I don't know." She confessed as she ignored her sister's ruthless brushing.

"Mommy says you need a man." Cynthia smiled as she repeated her mother's thoughts, which she believed was as good as the word of God. "She says if someone doesn't get one by the time they're twenty, they're going to be a spinster."

"Oh. Is that so?" was all she managed as she looked down at her stubby fingernails. She hoped her tone was indifferent as she intended it to be, but she was never very good at disguising her true feelings.

"But I don't think you'll be a spinster, Mary." Her sister prattled on. "Mommy says since Daddy's influential here you're bound to get someone. She says that's how society works." Was that really what her mother thought of her? Someone who could only get a husband due to her father's position in society.

"There, all finished." Cynthia beamed at her work. Mary's dark hair now hung in a neat plait down to her shoulders with the exception of a few untamed pieces that insisted upon sticking up at odd angles from her scalp. She excitedly pushed Mary Alice towards the vanity to examine the finished product for herself. "What do you think?"

"It's lovely." Mary half smiled, the expression not reaching her eyes.


	3. Slip of the Tongue

**A/N** Okay, I didn't quite pull off the longer chapter that I intended, so I settled for an early update. I really appreciate all the reviews and comments. They keep me going. Oh, and to address why Mary seems a tad out of character, her personality will change dramatically after her stay in the asylum so she'll be more like Alice. There's a method to my madness believe it or not. I've got the entire plot outlined and everything. Enjoy.

**Installment 3 – Slip of the Tongue **

Sunlight filtered through the drapes, pooling in a diluted yellow puddle on the floor. It was quite early on in the day but, regardless, it was already sweltering and the air was so saturated with water one could drown merely by breathing. Mary Alice couldn't imagine why anyone would want to be caught outdoors on a day such as this. She was just grateful that she didn't have to. Instead, she had been designated Cynthia's babysitter while her father was at the court house arguing a high-profile case and her mother had gone to pick up Mary's dress and wrap up the remainder of her purchases.

At the moment, Cynthia was still asleep. Although Mrs. Brandon would frown upon allowing the young girl to sleep in, Mary had no intention of waking her. She was in no mood for the activities the boisterous girl might cook up. She much rather spend her time doing something productive, however, productive things had the uncanny ability of being dull, repetitive tasks.

She hummed tunelessly to herself as she dipped her hands into the soapy basin, spidery fingers searching for another dish. She had neglected them last night and no one would be happy if she continued to do so. Her fingers locked around a piece of china as she quickly ran a cloth over its surface before passing it under the running tap and into a growing pile ready for drying. It went on like that for several minutes until the soft plodding of feet echoed down the stairs. Cynthia peeked around the corner, deep brown hair sticking up at impossible angles, still in her nightgown despite the time of day.

"Mary?" She called, voice thick with sleep. Mary Alice had paused in the process of drying a plate, inadvertently allowing it to slip from her grasp. It met the shining linoleum with a noisy clatter and shattered into dozens of tiny fragments. The pair jumped noticeably. Mary jerked her head spasmodically as her eyes scrutinized the broken china strewn across the kitchen floor.

"I didn't mean to startle you." Cynthia peeped as she took a timid step backwards.

"Stay back." Mary's voice cracked. "You're barefoot." She stooped to pick up the larger pieces and tossed them into the trash bin with an audible thud. She shuffled into the pantry to retrieve the broom and dust pan, sweeping up the remainder of the ruined dish and disposing of it with a flourish.

"I'm sorry." Her sister's voice was sincere and apologetic, a slight edge of fear raising her tone half an octave.

"It's really nothing, Cynthia." She really hadn't startled Mary at all. In fact, she had been lost daydreaming once again. It really was getting out of hand. But was she at fault for letting her mind wander when she had only mundane tasks to occupy her time?

"_Here, open this one next, darling." Mrs. Brandon had said as she indicated a small, pale green package topped with a white ribbon. "It's from your father and I."_

_Mary removed the ribbon with a quick tug and tore off the paper hastily rather than take her time as she should. It was her birthday, she could do as she pleased regardless of manners and without fear of reprimand. Underneath the wrappings was an unremarkable box. Mary Alice lifted the lid, eyes alight as her fingers trailed over the gift—a white gold necklace with a single opalescent pearl dangling from it. _

"_Beautiful." She breathed._

"_Here, try it on." Her father beamed, bald head glinting in the light as he bent to remove the necklace from its satin-lined container. His fingers fumbled with the clasp momentarily before it hung securely around his daughter's neck. "Perfect." He grinned toothily._

Instinctively, Mary's hand went to her throat to run her fingers across the remarkable piece of jewelry only to close around air. Of course it wouldn't be there. It was a daydream, the product of an overactive imagination, nothing more. It was silly of her to have gotten it confused with reality, even for a moment. But it was such a pretty necklace!

"Mary?" Cynthia eyed her sister curiously as she still stood with her hand drawn to her neck.

"Oh." Mary dropped her hand to her side, flushing slightly. She busied herself with drying the remainder of the dishes. "Go get dressed, Cynthia." She said as she turned to the cupboards and placed the china and cutlery in their appropriate places.

The six-year-old nodded and skipped away to get decent. Only Cynthia could turn such an ordinary task into something of a game. Mary had been like that in her younger days if not a bit more of a handful. She would kill to be young and carefree, but the closest thing to that would be insanity, and she was already lingering at its threshold if she was having trouble discerning reality from fantasy. It was a laughable concept really, wanting to be a child again when absolute freedom was just an arm's length away.

-

The following hours were dedicated towards entertaining her rambunctious sister. The young girl had the bothersome habit of filling every quiet moment with endless chatter and nearly infinite questions that seemed entirely pointless. Mary Alice got through majority of the conversation by simply nodding and throwing in a comment, such as "oh really?" and "how interesting" every so often. However, this was largely impossible when answering questions and that was perhaps why they irritated her the most.

"I wish I could be like you, Mary." Cynthia confessed as she fidgeted with the hem of her skirt. "Being old would be so much fun."

"It's more trouble than it's worth." She replied bluntly.

"Maybe you're doing it wrong." Mary chuckled at her sister's comment. Slightly embarrassed, Cynthia decided on a quick change of topic. "What do you think you're getting for you birthday?"

"A necklace," She blurted automatically. She immediately flushed at her mistake. It was just a slip of the tongue. She certainly didn't believe it. That was ridiculous, but she couldn't help but imagine the feel of the metal against her throat. Just a little.


	4. Doomsday

**A/N** Thanks for all the reviews and encouragement I received on the past chapters. To show my gratitude, I wrote the longer chapter I promised. This one is about four and a half word pages. An improvement on my usual two and a half. Anyway, enjoy.

**Installment 4 – Doomsday**

The day had finally arrived, Tuesday, in fact—her eighteenth birthday. It was a marvelous day, sunny, not a cloud to be seen, and a cooling summer breeze that did wonders to alleviate the early summer heat. It did a poor job, however, of reflecting the occasion. It should be overcast, Mary reasoned. It was her birthday, didn't that amount to at least one weather request? Marking the death of her childhood with sunshine and birdsong seemed hardly appropriate. Maybe she was just being a tad melodramatic.

Nonetheless, it hadn't prevented her from avoiding her mother at all costs. So far Mary Alice had done a pretty decent job by her standards. She had even managed to wiggle out of a potential confrontation by telling her mother that she had left Cynthia alone with her expensive cosmetics. By the time Mrs. Brandon discovered her eldest daughter's fabrication Mary had all but vanished.

Presently, Mary was pulling on the cornflower blue dress that now fit her frame exquisitely. It was a bit too warm for the shrug, but she would have to grin and bear it—bare arms were for harlots not young ladies. Mary Alice could recall the shrill voice from the etiquette lessons her finishing school had made mandatory as a child.

There was a soft rap on her door. "Mary, dear," Mrs. Brandon didn't wait for a reply before entering. "That dress compliments you nicely." Her voice was practically dripping the infamous southern charm that dictated something unpleasant coming.

Mary ran possible excuses through in her head but was all too aware that she was only grasping at straws. It was a wasted effort. "Thank you." Was all that escaped her lips. She was doomed.

"Let me fix your hair for you, Mary." She lifted the brush from the vanity and gestured towards the stool already pulled out.

"It's really not necessary, mother. I can do it myself." Mary Alice countered in the same crisp tone.

"Oh, I insist. Come sit." Mary obliged begrudgingly. Her mother handled the brush expertly, not at all like Cynthia's harsh technique. The bristles never seemed to snag the numerous tangles, and Mary was grateful. However, all gratitude drained away when Mrs. Brandon next opened her mouth. "We received an invitation to Felicity Marsh's wedding today."

"Oh, really?" Mary's tone was conversational but her lips thinned noticeably. "That's nice."

"Yes." Her mother nodded in assent, fingers gathering Mary's black locks into an elegant chignon. "Didn't you go to school with her, Mary?"

"I did."

"It's good that she's found someone." She inspected the chignon in the mirror. Unsatisfied or perhaps trying to buy time—one couldn't be certain—she took it down, brushing through it quickly to begin again. "Perhaps you should start looking for yourself."

Ah, there it was, out in the open.

"I don't—"

"Honestly, Mary, you need to find someone while they're still available and while you're still young." Mary Alice wanted to point out that she was only eighteen. She still had plenty of time, but this was impossible once her mother had hit her stride. The flustered girl settled on biting her tongue instead. "What about William Cunning? He's a nice young man _and_ a good friend of the family."

"I—" What was she supposed to say to that? Mrs. Brandon would undoubtedly scold her if she mentioned that William Cunning had a certain grating presence that made her want to bludgeon him with an exceedingly heavy object. No to mention he only ever talked about race horses. Or would telling her mother that some fantasy had already stolen her heart go over better?

"Just think about it, Mary." She insisted. "All done," She patted her daughter on the should before exiting the bedroom without so much as a backwards glance. She had said what she had intended and there was absolutely no reason to bother with friendly banter.

-

Soon enough, birthday or not, Mary was flitting about the kitchen placing the new china—Mrs. Brandon had gotten them for considerably less after complaining about the exceedingly rude and unknowledgeable employee they had encountered a few days before—on the table in predetermined arrangements that her mother had organized expertly. The round-faced homemaker was too busy preparing dinner to bother with such trivialities herself.

Cynthia—like all small children when people were attempting to do something productive—seemed to be constantly underfoot, which had nearly caused her sister to drop the stack of saucers she was carrying to their appropriate places. Cynthia found this highly amusing and proceeded to make a game out of attempting to startle Mary into breaking the dishes. At least that was the case until Mrs. Brandon lost her patience and reprimanded the child. Even this display of irritation had not been enough to encourage the girl to leave the kitchen. She treated her older sibling to improvised choruses of Happy Birthday. At first it had been amusing, even endearing, but had rapidly become quite annoying.

Fortunately, the arrival of Mr. Brandon had saved the young girl from another, more severe scolding. He carefully deposited his briefcase, on top of which was a large white box, onto the waiting sofa, to be reclaimed when he didn't have a squealing creature latched about his middle and rattling off a lightning-fast recall of the day's events leading up to his arrival. He smiled patiently, always tolerable, as he waited for Cynthia to finish her muffled news cast and disentangle herself from him. It was amazing to watch his trademark poker face—a must-have in the legal world—dissolve entirely in a matter of seconds.

When Cynthia finally did relent, he scooped up the box and strode into the kitchen, daughter close at his heels.

"Oh, you remembered the cake." Mrs. Brandon smiled in relief as she caught sight of the package held cautiously in his grip. She proceeded to close the oven on a tray of rolls, and dance over to her husband. He bent down slightly to reach his wife's level and gave her a quick peck on the lips in greeting. "Dinner should be ready shortly." She announced as she took up a knife and carved the roast chicken into thin slices.

"Happy Birthday, honey," Mr. Brandon said between the clatter and scraping of utensils of plates. "Eighteen already." He had made the same comment multiple times already but still seemed surprised by it each time. Mary nodded through a mouthful of bread. She was happy for the time being. She had already gotten through the worst part of the day—the confrontation, however small, that she had been dreading. Surely there wasn't anything else left to worry about. At least not until tomorrow when her mother brought the subject of William Cunning up again.

The cake was better than she had imagined and despite her mother's disapproving look, Mary helped herself to seconds, and started on a third, but hadn't gotten past the second bite before the real indulgence was revealed. Mrs. Brandon had prepared a lemon sorbet. Mary Alice couldn't remember the last time she had tasted the tangy sweet dessert. Like a glutton, she relished each frosty bite, not the slightest discouraged by the fact that she would probably be sick later for consuming too many sweets.

Presents were the next festivity on the agenda, but Mary doubted that any gift could top the lemon sorbet, which she had gushed about to her mother between every mouthful. The gifts were largely simplistic yet thoughtful things that were to be expected. Cynthia had insisted on being the first to present her sister with a gift which turned out to be a small bouquet of slightly wilted daisies tied with one of her own hair ribbons. Mary had smiled and given her a peck on the cheek in gratitude which made the six-year-old squeal in delight and flush ever-so slightly. Her Grandmother—the only living grandparent she still had—sent Mary Alice a sepia photograph of her grandfather, herself, and a much younger version of her father when he still had a full head of unruly black hair. Annabel, her closest childhood friend now living somewhere in Virginia, had sent her a charming letter of wishful reminiscing and promises of visiting her in Biloxi which she had done on many occasions but had not quite gotten around to yet.

"Here, open this one, darling." Her mother pushed a small pale green package into her hands. "Your father and I picked it out."

Mary's hands trembled as they roamed over the crisp paper. It was almost exactly the same. The words were different, but this package was identical, right down to the knot on the white ribbon. With great difficulty in controlling her hands and maintaining a reasonably calm expression, although she didn't quite succeed, she tugged off the wrapping paper and allowed it to flutter in tatters to the floor. The box was as unremarkable as the first time she had seen it, but inside she was certain the necklace was there.

Mary almost needed help to remove the lid of the box. She inhaled sharply as her fingers grazed the satin lined interior. Nestled securely inside was the opalescent pearl attached to a white gold chain. She dare not touch it. She could only look, lips colorless, as her parents waited patiently for her to thank them and flush with adoration. It never happened.

Time seemed to hang still for a moment.

Cynthia, never an advocate for waiting unnecessarily, stood on tiptoe to get a glimpse of the exquisite piece of jewelry. "Hey! You were right, Mary. How did you know they were getting you a necklace?" Tact wasn't her forte either.

Mary immediately felt her parents' scrutinizing gaze rest heavily on her. An uncomfortable weight. It was a legitimate question. She had never shown any preference for much jewelry. She never asked for any either. There was no explanation for Mary to have suspected she would be receiving such a gift. Deep down—or perhaps not that deep down at all—Mary Alice knew that there was no explanation for it because what she had done was not explainable. In fact, from what she had learned, if this were the case and not the result of an oddly accurate and unlikely hallucination, this sort of thing was evil—witchcraft. And if it was the former, instead, that would mean that she was an invalid, a babbling lunatic. She wasn't quite sure which was more preferable. But there was one certainty; she would not mention it regardless.

Lying was a much safer alternative.

"I overheard you speaking about it." Mary stumbled over the words, eyes locked onto the floorboards. It was the perfect display of shame and guilt, but that had not been her intention at all. In truth, she was a pitiful liar and it was her hope that by not meeting her family's eyes they would not be able to detect the falsehood.

**A/N** Okay, so the ending isn't the grandest, but there will be more developments to this turn of events in the next chapter.


	5. Solutions

**A/N** Thanks for all the reviews, especially to those of you who have reviewed each chapter. I'm a terrible person for not building the tension from the last chapter into this one. But I assure you there will be plenty of drama, angst, and tension in the coming chapters. The asylum is just around the bend. (about two to three more chapters or so) That's when it really gets good.

Installment 5 – Solutions

Days were slipping by, running into each others like water flowing freely from a tap. One could cup their hands to capture the water but it would leak through regardless. It had been nearly six weeks since Mary's eighteenth birthday—six uneventful, unremarkable weeks. The anxiety she had felt surrounding her birthday had all but vanished in the weeks that followed it, taking with it her daydreams that she accredited to the stressfulness of the situation.

An intolerable pressure, she hadn't noticed until its absence, had melted away.

Things were largely back into routine save for one irksome exception—occasional _unexpected_ visits from two or three of the city's bachelors. They seemed to show up at precisely the moments when Mary had little else to do and could conjure up no suitable excuses to speak of. It didn't take a great deal of sleuthing to discern the culprit. Mrs. Brandon went out of her way to ensure that it was her eldest daughter who came to the door—even going so far as to feign a sprained ankle that she miraculously recovered from in time to usher her out the door.

Mary Alice had confronted her mother about these actions, but the middle-aged woman merely looked down her nose at her daughter and claimed that such thoughts were absolute hogwash. She didn't care to argue the matter and decided that speaking to her father would be a much better course of action. It turned out to be of little consequence. Mr. Brandon agreed with his wife's actions wholeheartedly. He only wished she would be a bit more inconspicuous. They were being ridiculous! However, there was little she could do about it, and begrudgingly continued these visits. She would just enjoy herself as little as possible, she decided grumpily.

She had never gone anywhere particularly interesting on these not-so-romantic forays, and the dates were such that she didn't have to pay her escort much attention. Much to her displeasure, William Cunning had taken her to the race tracks where he shouted obscenities at the jockeys whenever he wasn't satisfied with the outcome of a race. He even had the audacity to ask Mary for money on one occasion when he couldn't afford to pay his debt for a lost gamble. Mary had informed her mother of this but she might as well have been babbling nonsense. Mrs. Brandon adored William. His family was one of the more notable ones in their particular social circle, and that made him infallible in her eyes. Mary Alice had considered telling her mother that if she loved William so much then she could gladly go on these dates in her place. She didn't of course.

Garret Spaulding was practically God in comparison. He was polite, thoughtful, the model gentleman. His fatal flaw was that he was much too indecisive for his own good. The man didn't know how to assert his authority in a situation, and was easily swayed if he believed there was any chance of conflict. He was the only one of her suitors that showed a genuine romantic interest in her—the others were as unenthused by her as she was by them—and even attempted to kiss her after one of their dates. Mary responded with an exceptionally well faked sneezing fit. Garret had been so flustered that he couldn't speak the rest of the night, and promptly left her on her doorstep. She had never been so thankful in all of her life.

Summer was now rapidly coming to a close. Shortly, Cynthia would be beginning finishing school. That in itself would not be so terrible. However, Mary had already completed her education which meant that she would be left alone with her mother for the majority of the day, until her father arrived home from a long day of legalities. Mrs. Brandon was intolerable after spending an extended amount of time with her. She always found a way of turning the most mundane things into something that required her to give an extensive lecture. Mary Alice had no intention of enduring any more of those than absolutely necessary.

So, in her spare time, she often found herself in her room sitting behind the small desk that contained an unorganized mound of old correspondences she had received over the years and a considerable stack of letters she had written with every intention of mailing but hadn't quite gotten around to it. Much of the news they contained was now outdated anyway and would require her to pen new letters altogether. Mary would sit there for hours at a time, under just that guise, as she jotted down ideas that would keep her out of the house for as long as possible. Thus far, they hadn't amounted to much. They ranged from the reasonable such as babysitting for some family friends while they vacationed, to finding some sort of employment, to the completely ridiculous such as searching the entirety of the city for some piece of jewelry she had lost. Her ideas all shared one common flaw—they didn't last for more than a week or so. Mary wanted something that could last for long periods of times. Months if she so wished. It would purely be an added bonus if she could get away from the bothersome dates that had the tendency to pop up when she least wanted them to.

At the moment, Mary Alice was scribbling down another idea, not a particularly good one by the looks of it. With an agitated grunt she crumpled the scrap of stationary into a fist sized ball and lobbed it back down at the long-suffering desk. This action was greeted by a flurry of pages as her stack of correspondences spilled across the desk's surface and onto the scuffed floor. Mary was half compelled to throw a child's tantrum, shouting and stomping her feet, perhaps even throwing in a curse for good measure. She settled on a single choice profanity and stooped to gather the letters back up.

Then she spotted it.

How had she been so ignorant? The solution had been there all along! Annabel's neatly penned script leapt out from its undignified place on the floor. _I'll have to visit you soon, Mary. It's been quite some time, hasn't it?_ The words jumped out as if they were headlines on a newspaper. It really had been an unbelievably long time. Several years now. In each of Annabel's many letters she had always reassured her that she would be coming to visit her in Biloxi as soon as she could make the arrangements. It hadn't happened yet. Why shouldn't Mary just take matters into her own hands? As far as she was concerned she was killing two birds with one stone. She could spend time with Annabel in Virginia and escape from her mother at the same time. It was a flawless concept.

She would go to Virginia. Annabel wouldn't refuse, she was certain. Writing the letter was only a formality. Mary could probably show up on her doorstep with absolutely no notice and Annabel still wouldn't turn her away, or think anything of it for that matter. Mind made up, Mary Alice plopped herself back in the uncomfortable wooden chair—completely forgetting the scattered papers—secured a fresh piece of stationary, and began writing in rapid strokes. The end result was slanted considerably and quite sloppy but she wouldn't be troubled to rewrite it. Annabel would get the gist of it even if she couldn't discern some of the more illegible parts.

Two days had passed before she could find a free moment to traipse down to the post office and mail the thing. It took another two weeks to receive her old friend's reply. Her father had barely extended the envelope to her before she had snatched it—crinkling it slightly—and sprinted up to her room where she hastily tore away the envelope and unfolded the paper. Her slate gaze darted over it twice before her eyes could convey the words to her brain.

_Dearest Mary Alice,_

_It's been quite some time since I've last heard from you. I, admittedly, expected to receive your reply from the letter I mailed to you on your birthday. I suppose it must have gotten lost in the mail. That's one thing this country should really attempt to remedy. How the government can possibly misplace letters is beyond me. As such, don't bother replying to this message. It just might not arrive. Ha!_

Mary shook her head at this. She had, in all actuality, completely forgotten to reply to Annabel's letter. She did this more frequently than she would care to admit. However, Annabel always assumed it was the fault of the post office and not her forgetful friend that she didn't receive her letters. Mary had never taken the time to correct her on this matter.

_My family would undoubtedly welcome you into our home. You needn't ask permission. As far as I'm concerned you always have an invitation here. Do come soon. It has been too long. I suppose the blame for that rests on my shoulders. I have been promising to visit for ages, haven't I? I reason Biloxi isn't the same without myself there. I don't know how people make it through the day knowing that the lovely Annabel Givens isn't there. How do you do it?_

Mary snorted. Mississippi was at a loss without Annabel's since of humor. She was lighthearted and could turn any situation into an entertaining one. It seemed an impossible feat to not smile while in her presence. That was probably why they had been such good friends as children.

_I shouldn't drag this letter out much longer. I can fill you in on all the scandals and happenings of Virginia in person soon. I expect you to do the same. I'm positively starved for back home gossip. I trust you can provide me with some?_

_I assume you'll be arriving soon. Do hurry. I can't wait!_

_Sincerely,_

_Annabel Givens_

Mary was nothing short of ecstatic. She would be leaving for Virginia Saturday—only three days away. This was the best news she had received in a long time. She didn't even bother to bridge the subject with her parents until she already had everything packed and ready to go.

-

Saturday dawned bright and sticky with humidity. Her father was helping Mary secure her luggage into the train's compartments. The earsplitting whistle drowned out all other sounds on the platform. Mr. Brandon hurried off the train and went to join his wife and youngest daughter on the platform. Mary leaned out the window beaming and saying her rushed goodbyes—they had had more prolonged ones on the trip to the station and before she had boarded the train.

As Biloxi faded into the background and was replaced by the sprawling countryside, she situated herself into a semi-comfortable position and watched the greenery whip by in colorful blurs that were beginning to gain an autumn yellow.

_Virginia here I come._


	6. Homesick

**A/N** I apologize for the slow-ish update. I had a bit of writer's block with this chapter. I don't know why, but it wouldn't flow. Anyway, the next chapter is far more exciting, and perhaps where things come unraveled for Mary Alice, hm? Enjoy.

Installment 6 – homesick

Annabel had met Mary at the train station accompanied by her brother, a handsome young man by the name of Wesley. Neither Mary Alice nor Annabel knew anything about driving the loud, shuddering automobile that her family owned and so Wesley would be their chauffeur, much to his displeasure. Wesley was a soft-spoken man who wasn't too keen on transporting his overly talkative sibling.

That was all fine and dandy for Mary. She wasn't looking forward to having to sit still after spending hours upon hours aboard a train that only offered harsh wooden benches for sitting and sleeping on, for that matter. She would very much like the opportunity to stretch her stiff and cramping legs and she was quite certain that if she sat for even a moment longer she would develop a hemorrhoid. But Mary doubted Annabel would consent to the eighteen mile trek it would take to reach her home. So, it seemed Wesley was the only option.

The Givens's home, it turned out, had been a prominent plantation in the days prior to the Civil War. It was a sprawling estate that was the epitome of southern excellence. It even had a name at one point in time—Wyverly Valley, although there was no valley to speak of. Time seemed to stand still here. In fact, Mary was certain that if she paid close enough attention she would be able to see the workers stooped in the fields, hear the tunes of the women singing, and perhaps even catch the aroma of the evening meal being prepared. It was a welcomed change from the city.

Mr. Givens seemed to have been thinking along those same lines when he uprooted his family and settled them in rural Virginia. Mrs. Givens, Annabel's mother, had suffered something of a mental breakdown—a real hush-hush matter—and Virginia seemed to be a likely solution although she had never completely recovered in the years that followed the move. She was a frail creature, doing nothing but laying in bed for days at a time, avoiding all types of work that could possibly cause stress—that was to say, everything. Her husband had hired numerous doctors but bed rest seemed to be the consensus.

Annabel, as always, was full of chatter. She spent hours telling her childhood friend the gossip she had scrounged up—an exceedingly difficult feat in a place where miles separated even the closest of neighbors. Mary didn't quite understand the significance of some of these stories but she supposed she would have to live in the boondocks to really grasp it.

Annabel's favorite topic, like that of many women their age, was men—one in particular. His name was Collin and he lived in Atherton, the nearest city to their home. From what Mary could gather, he was a doctor, that was how they had met. He was one of the half dozen specialists Mr. Givens had hired for his wife. He was old enough to be her father but that didn't dishearten Annabel in the least, nor did the fact that he had never offered her a second glance. He had, however, arrived on one occasion, claiming that Mrs. Givens had an appointment that Mr. Givens didn't remember scheduling.

"He's just so perfect, Mary." She swooned, absentmindedly twisting a shockingly red curl around her finger. "He's brilliant and handsome and one day I'll be his wife. Mrs. Doctor Collin Bumble. It has a nice ring to it, don't you think?" Mary wanted to point out that Annabel Bumble didn't have a nice ring to it at all. It sounded downright ridiculous, and she couldn't help but think her friend was expecting far too much from someone who wouldn't give her the time of day if he was in possession of the only watch in the world. But she let her friend have her schoolgirl moment. Besides, was Annabel's waiting for Collin any different from her waiting for her imaginary Prince Charming. In fact, Mary's situation seemed even more pathetic.

"Yes." She humored her. "I think it's a lovely name."

Annabel flushed slightly, no doubt imagining what Collin would think of her name. She recovered quickly, however, and promptly changed the direction of the conversation. That's how it was with them. They skipped from one topic to another with no rhyme or reason whatsoever. Annabel dominated the conversation unintentionally. When she caught herself she began to interrogate Mary about every minute detail of her life.

"How's your family?"

'Same as always. Father's still working himself into an early grave, Mother's still as abrasive as ever, and Cynthia's headed for finishing school in less than a week."

"Does Madam Somersby still teach there?" Annabel recalled the toad-like mathematics teacher that had, at one point, attempted to have her expelled after a missing ring turned up in her room due to no fault of her own, she might add.

"Last I heard."

"Poor Cynthia," She shook her head for added effect. "She'd better hope Madam Somersby doesn't recognize her last name. She's done for otherwise." Aside from the ring mishap, the pair had done quite a lot to get on their ex-educator's bad side. She was not unjustifiable in her resentment of the girls.

Interrogation aside, there was gossip. Lots of gossip. Normally, Mary Alice wasn't one for gossiping, but news-starved Annabel had a way of coaxing it out of her.

"Felicity Marsh got married a month ago." She confessed after being pried for information on their old friends.

"To who?" Annabel squealed impatiently.

"Gregory Thorn," She was referring to the foul-mouthed young man that always seemed to be in one sticky situation after another.

Annabel was incredulous. "I would've thought Fee had better taste in men than that.

"From what I hear, she didn't have much of a choice." Mary whispered as if they were back in school and someone might overhear. "There's a rumor going about that she's carrying, if you know I mean." She wasn't sure if this were true or not, but she had heard it mentioned enough that she repeated it anyway. It seemed to have the appropriate effect on Annabel anyway.

It took several moments before she was able to reply. "Ah, well, Fee always was a bit on the flagrant side." They burst out into fits of girlish giggles.

--

"Are you sure it's safe?" Mary chewed her nails nervously, an unladylike habit she had never quite let die. Her slate eyes flitted frantically from the massive creature to her friend uncertainly. This was a surefire a death sentence. Had she gone mad to allow Annabel to talk her into this?

"It's just a horse?" Annabel made it sound as if it was the most obvious thing in the world and she had to explain it, begrudgingly, to an invalid.

"I _know_ it's a horse." Mary folded her arms crossly. Nervousness and aggravation was never a pleasing combination. "But what if it were to buck?" Her typical daring evaporated at the thought. Mary Alice was terrified of horses.

"Sprout's the gentlest mare we've got here." Annabel patted the old mare fondly. It certainly looked reliable, and far too old to attempt throwing Mary from its back, but she wasn't in much of a trusting state of mind when it came to horses. Mary recalled the first time she had ever attempted to mount a horse. It was at her cousin's sixth birthday party, and her parents had arranged for pony rides. Mary had been a bit too short to get atop the beast, but much too stubborn to accept any assistance. Rather than using the saddle for leverage, she foolishly latched onto the pony's mane. The pony, as it were, was not too fond of having a small child pulling at its hair and aimed a warning kick at her. The kick didn't connect, but it was enough to make her release the animal's mane and fall to the ground in a painful heap.

She had learned a valuable lesson: horses were dangerous.

"Just watch. I'll show you how to mount her." The redhead turned to her horse—a sand-colored mare by the name of Sparrow, if Mary could remember correctly—and gathered the reigns in her left hand. She quickly looked over her shoulder to make sure her friend was paying attention. She was. With practiced ease, Annabel placed her left foot in the stirrup while holding onto the saddle and swinging her right leg over in a single fluid motion. "See?" She grinned from her position several heads higher than her pupil.

Mary didn't think it was quite as simple as her friend made it seemed, but nodded warily regardless. Clumsy fingers collected the leather strips of the reigns, as she debated which way to best tackle the next step. She stepped into the stirrup, praying that she would not fall as she had before. So far so good. The next part proved more difficult. After five minutes of merciless teasing from Annabel, Mary Alice still hadn't managed to mount the horse. She simply couldn't swing her leg over.

"Wait a minute." Annabel managed between giggles as she slipped easily off Sparrow and traipsed back into the stables. When she returned, she held a large wooden box. "Use this," She instructed. "It's not as good as a mounting block, but ours is broken so this will have to do."

The makeshift mounting block made things considerably easier and Mary, admittedly, was quite frustrated that Annabel had waited so long before bringing it to her. However, this still didn't remedy the fact that she was still afraid of horses. Annabel was unsurprisingly impatient with her friend, but after a while accepted the fact that Mary had no inclination of going faster than a crippled tortoise.

"Honestly, Mary, I bet Cynthia has more of a backbone than you." It was an innocent enough joke, but at the mention of her sister's name Mary found herself picturing the girl. Dark hair, iron colored eyes, peaches and cream complexion, and her impish grin. But as soon as the image formed in Mary's mind, the picturesque grin twisted into a grotesque grimace. Cynthia was lying in her room, flat, rosy marks speckled her skin and her eyes were bloodshot and feverish. Incoherent words were tumbling from the girl's numb lips, and what Mary _could_ discern made no sense whatsoever. Something was dreadfully wrong with her if she was fantasizing about something so terrible.

Mary shook physically—something she did when attempting to clear thoughts from her head. It seemed those sorts of actions weren't best suited for horse riding. She leaned dangerously to one side, her hands locked about the reigns in an attempt to regain her balance. If it weren't for bad luck she would have none at all. The saddle had slid with her. For a moment, it looked as if she would hold on, however peculiar of a position it might be. The horse had promptly come to a halt already, but her limbs, which were locked firmly, crumpled. She tumbled to the ground in an oddly reminiscent fashion. It wasn't enough to injure her, but enough to cause bruises.

Mary wasn't certain whether the fall or Annabel's laughs as she helped her home were worse. One thing was certain, sleeping would be no comfortable affair tonight with the unwelcome company of large—but not serious—bruises on her backside, hip, and shoulder.


End file.
